Mika
by likeafairy
Summary: By the 74th Hunger Games, we all know Cinna is different from the others in the Capitol. We don't know why. I can't be the only one who wondered. Love is a powerful thing.


I was herded into the arena at the front of the stage in front of District Four's Justice Building, with all the other girls. The boys were all to my left and the victors of District Four were in a solemn line, standing behind the selected escort for District Four this year. Camera men sat upon high stools at all corners of the Square, which would allow the cameras to capture the 'festivities' below from all angles.

This year's escort looked everything that wasn't District Four. She had spiky, metallic black hair that seemed too inky to be natural, and swirling silvery-grey tattoos running up and down her arms and neck. She introduced herself as Lucile just before she began the speech that began every Reaping. Why we were here. What the Districts did to deserve this. What the Hunger Games were there to remind us of. It was the same one every year, and it was easy for your mind to wander during it, too dark, fearful thoughts of getting randomly chosen as tribute.

My older brother and I were not brought up like most other people in my District. Some here treated the Games as an opportunity for glory, although District Four was definitely not as bad as One or Two. Every few years or so, though, someone in our district would volunteer. It was the selection of my mother's sister as tribute that had me brought up seeing the Games in a darker light then everyone else. My Aunt Chelle died in the Games, she came eleventh out of twenty four. When I was old enough to realize that my mother's sister had been in the Games, my brother and I decided to ask my parents what exactly had happened to her. It ended badly. My mother got teary and angry and absolutely refused to tell us anything and my father warned me to never speak of it again. So we did some research. At school, they have tapes of the past Games. We found the right year, my brother snuck in and took it and together we watched my fourteen year old Aunt get chopped into tiny pieces by tributes from Districts Two and her district partner, who were supposed to be her allies.

From then on, I understood why my parents detested the Games as much as they did. They turned children into monsters.

Lucile was moving across the stage now, reaching into the spherical container with the many names of possible tributes fluttering around of tiny slips of white paper. They seemed to be eluding her fingers. I ran through the calculation I'd done a thousand times again in my head. How old was I now? Nearly sixteen. I had only taken the tesserae once, during a particularly difficult period of time when I was fourteen. My family didn't even know I had taken it until I brought the grain home. I remember my brother and I made a deal. I took it once and he signed up three times. But he wasn't eligible now anyway, so I didn't have to worry about him anymore. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. There were certainly people from District Four whose names were in there more times than mine. The odds were in my favor.

What a naive thing to believe, I thought as soon as Lucile announced my name.

"Mika Petrov."

It boomed over the crowd. Like a wave, people turned to face me, their faces blank, masked or, from the people I knew from school, filled with terror. I took as step forward and tried to ignore the half-choked scream I heard that I knew was my mother's. Fear hit me then like a wave knocking my feet out from under me and I nearly tripped over a loose crack in the stone pavement at the sound of her despair. I refused to look back at her though. I would see her, my Dad and my brother and I'd break. I already had images of the Aunt Chelle's mangled body flashing in my head and I was having a hard enough time of not shaking.

I climbed the steps to the stage and the eyes of the Victors all greeted me. They were mostly blue, green or a mixture of the two. Some victors stood out more than others. Annie Cresta stared vacantly at me. She was always vacant. Mags, one of the eldest Victors, looked pitying. Aron Conch looked vaguely nostalgic. I think Finnick Odair was sizing me up. _Does she have what it takes to survive? _He probably wasn't liking what he was seeing. I was quite small for my age. A strange feeling of determination overcame me then. I'd show him. I'd show them all how strong I could be.

It worried me how quickly that feeling overcame most of my fear.

The boy tribute was chosen next. His name was Zeke Marshes and I recognized him from school. He was in the grade below me.

Then our mentors were announced. They were usually the most recent male and female victors of the Games from our District, but ever since Annie Cresta won almost two years ago, she hasn't exactly been right in the head and people think it would be unfair to basically condemn a tribute to death by having her as mentor. Mags was the only other female District Four victor alive today and she had problems communicating. So Aron Conch, who won the sixty-second Hunger Games, took her place. He was tan and lanky with dark windswept hair and blue eyes and had won his games at the age I'd be turning in a few days; sixteen. He was Zeke's mentor. Finnick Odair was mine. Usually I'd been thrilled to spend some one-on-one time with someone who looked like Finnick Odair. He was downright gorgeous. But the thought of me not coming out of the arena dampened any enthusiasm I would've had. I'd also heard that he had quite a reputation in the Capitol.

After a few more formalities, like asking for volunteers (which no one did), we were quickly taken inside the Justice Building to say good bye to our families for what was likely the last time.

* * *

Saying good bye to my family was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life - which would soon be contested anyway. I reflected back on my father's attempt to stay stoic, my mother's failure to form coherent sentences and my brother holding my hand in silence, the only one to stay truly composed, as I fingered the ring that was to be my District token. The ring was smooth, simple band of gold and on it, the words "_Love is as steady as the waves that carry it_" was engraved in simple lettering. It was supposed to be an eighteenth birthday present, for when I officially became an adult. It was highly unlikely I'd make it past sixteen now, so my parents had given it to me early.

I was seated at the dining table on the train across from Zeke on the train speeding away from our home, on the way to the Capitol. In front of us lay plates of food; pastries filled with cream, thinly sliced meats on a bed of greens, a large salty fish dripping in butter, fruit salad and several different juices in large jugs. Although we definitely had enough food and sustenance in District 4, I'd, never had anything to this scale. My father was just a fisherman and my mother was only a weaver, after all. Food of this magnificence was saved for those in positions of power or incredible riches.

Soon the silence that preceded over the room became too much for me, so I opened to my mouth to speak to Zeke, but before I could get a word out, Lucile, Finnick and Aron entered the carriage. Lucile immediately pulled us both to our feet, saying something about getting a good look at us, and dragged us forward. I was still wearing the white cotton dress that hung loosely off my frame, the one I'd pulled on that morning for the Reaping without a real thought because I'd honestly thought I would not have been selected.

I was pulled from my thoughts as Lucile moved to examine the pair of us closer, taking our hands and turning us to the side slightly before stepping back. She bit her lip, her eyes running up and down the pair of us. Finnick and Aron were also watching. I met Finnick's sea green eyes and held them. There were stories about him sleeping with many women from the Capitol, even though he and Annie Cresta, District Four's most recent Victor, were rumoured to be a couple at home. I looked away and forced myself to focus, hearing the end of a compliment from Lucile about my clear complexion and slight, frame.

"Sea water," I say simply, trying to make it seem as though I hadn't missed most of what she had been saying. "It's good for the skin."

Lucile nodded enthusiastically, looking intrigued, before moving on. "Well, both of you seem healthy and good-looking enough to live up to being Career Tribute. Let's eat then we can watch the rest of the Reapings together and scope out the competition. By then, we'll be at the Capitol and we can meet the stylists!"

It annoyed me that Lucile did not seem to be factoring in that at least one of us was going to die because of this whole situation. But nevertheless, I did what she said without a complaint.

Finnick sat beside me at the table. He was beautiful, there was no denying that. But I couldn't help but wonder if the rumours were true about him. I wondered if he would wander off to be with some Capitol woman when we reached our destination.

"Mika," Finnick said politely, after an awkward moment of quiet, while Lucile, Aron and Zeke talked about how Zeke had been trained with throwing knives.

"Finnick," I replied, staring at the food, not at all feeling like eating.

"I've seen you around," Finnick continued. "But never actually talked to you. It's disappointing we've had to meet like this."

"Hm," I say, playing with my fork.

That was the extent of the conversation between Finnick and I. However, it would be wrong to say I didn't like him. He, Zeke, Lucile and Aron were much more comfortable talking to each other over lunch and while we watched the Reapings. Finnick was charming, funny and strangely insightful (and I'm pretty certain Lucile was already smitten). I just wasn't comfortable talking to him yet. I rarely was with anyone at first. Which is why when Aron also eyed me curiously a few times, I looked away quickly, eager to avoid conversation.

We arrived at the Capitol, the sixth district to do so. Immediately, we were hastened up to our room on level four, the one we'd be staying in.

Zeke was immediately whisked away by Aron, as his stylist was already ready. Mine, however was taking longer than expected, so Finnick and I sat together on the lounge.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of me. "What's happening with you and Annie?" I ask.

Finnick turned his head slowly to face me. "Why are you interested?"

I shrug. "I'm just curious. In the Capitol, you're always seen with these women."

Finnick leans back and surveys the room, his face strangely blank. When he's ascertained that we're alone, he says quietly, "I love Annie. And she knows about what goes on in the Capitol. You'd have to be a hermit not to know. She's knows why I'm with them too. It isn't my choice." I wait for him to elaborate, to explain the vague, disconnected sentences, but he doesn't.

"So it is true. But ... why?" I ask tentatively.

Finnick smiles, ruefully at me. His whole face lights up when he smiles, despite the edge of bitterness laced in his voice. ""I'll tell you what; if you get out of that arena alive, I'll let you know." He looks at me up and down and his bitterness in more pronounced now. "If you do make it out, you'll find out anyway, I'm sure. You're beautiful enough."

I frown at the confusing last statement, confused as to what my looks had to do with getting out of the arena, but replied anyway. "I'll hold you too that."

"It sounds like you plan on getting out."

I bite my lip, thinking carefully how to word this. "I don't want to die," I end up saying. It's the simplest way I can put my thoughts into coherent sentences. _I don't want to die._

Finnick shakes his head, a faint smirk on his face. He holds something out to me. "Sugar cube?" he offers.

I look to see if he is serious; he is. So I make a movement somewhere between a nod and a shrug and take it. The sugar is just melting in my mouth when Lucile comes back in and drags me down the hall, saying my stylist had come, my prep team had arrived and were finally ready to start.

I was ushered into a bright white room with one glass wall showing the Capitol city outside. It was all tall buildings and bright lights and colors too shiny and bright, not normally seen in natural surroundings. Fake.

My Prep Team were three, typically colorful Capitol citizens. Two males and one female. They undressed me so I was wearing nothing, then sat me in a chair in the middle of the room. I was not afraid of the nudity. Skinny dipping was a common concept in District Four, especially in the poorer areas. Those weren't really talked about in the slightly better-off parts though, where I was from. The poorer areas often had the best beaches though, which was why I visited so often. They worked on me, chattering away about my "angelic" features, my "ideal" thin frame, my even tan and skin tone. All were compliments, until the pink haired male with the three nose rings, Stell, got to my hair.

My hair is a light, golden blonde color, a few shades darker then sand, long and wavy. I usually wore it down so it spilled over my shoulders. "Your hair is dry," he said, pursuing his lips, pulling at the strands so they waved down my back.

"Sea water," I say again, Lucile popping into my head at once. "The salt dries your hair." Stell looked appalled.

"On the plus side," he said, brushing through sweet-smelling pink cream through the length of my hair, "it has given you hair a nice even wave." I decided that, despite the situation, I quite liked my prep team. They were people, despite their obvious shallowness, that I would enjoy being around in any other circumstances. They asked me many things about my life and commented on it, seeming to be genuinely interested, taking my mind off the fact I was being dressed like a doll about to be handed to destructive two-year-old.

About an hour later, I had reached the "Beauty Base One" stage, a very complex, technical term apparently. It was supposed to make me look natural. Using liberal amounts of beauty product. I got a good look at myself in the full length mirror. I don't look incredibly different. My hair is the only hugely noticeable difference. It's smoother, more silky looking. My blue-green eyes look brighter and wider, due to the white mascara, Reeba, the only female member of my prep team, had lined my eyes with. I was completely hairless (apart from the hair on my head, of course), which I suppose I was okay with. In District Four, most of us were. It allowed us to move through the water a lot faster.

My prep team showered me with more compliments, which I accepted gracefully with a small smile. I didn't want to be mean and I could admit that I looked good, even though I liked the way I looked before my prep team had gone through with me.

They slipped me into the white robe that had been hanging on the chair and tied it loosely at my waist before leaving the room so my stylist could observe me uninterrupted. The arms of my robe were slightly too big and almost covered my hands, but the actual robe itself was short and very revealing, coming up three quarters of my thighs. I wondered if it was made that way on purpose.

I saw an incredibly tall woman with vibrant purple hair, very pale green skin and a long flowing, lime green dress enter the room over my shoulder in the reflection of the mirror. We stared at each other for a few seconds in the mirror before I turned around to face them. Another figure entered the room. He looked about two years older than me and was a lot shorter than the woman but taller than me, which admittedly wasn't hard. He didn't look like someone from the Capitol. He had a natural looking shade of hair, brown, and his eyes were hazel, the green flecks in them emphasized by the thick line of gold surrounding his eyes. The lines of gold were the only strange, Capitol-ish things about him. He wore plain black clothes and his skin was a natural color, not dyed. He was the first real thing I'd seen since I'd entered the Capitol. The bitter feeling I had felt before my prep team relaxed me crept up on me again.

"Well, you certainly are a natural beauty," the tall women said, her voice heavily accented with the Capitol affections. She sat down regally on the chair I'd just vacated. "I'm Viola, your stylist. I apologize for being late. There were some problems with my intern." Her gaze flickered to the boy. "I didn't know I was getting one, you see. But I've seen Cinna's designs. He's competent. Perhaps even the next big stylist. Maybe he'll take over my expertise in the styling of the Career Districts."

I stared at Cinna. "Ok," I said, immediately closing up to this woman. Something about her made me immediately dislike her.

Viola waited a second. When it was obvious I wasn't going to say anything else, she coughed and said, "Drop the robe for me." I let the robe fall in a crumbled, white heap on the floor. Her eyes ran up and down my body. "You look good even with no enhancements or clothes. It must be all that fresh sea air," she smiled, attempting to be kind I think. I didn't smile back. I was, after all, being presented to kill and be killed for entertainment, I thought reproachfully. If I didn't want to be nice, I wasn't going to be.

"Not very happy, are we," Viola murmured. "That's ok. I know how I'll dress you for the parade." She turned to Cinna the Intern, who'd been hovering behind the chair, and her voice turned brisker, more business-like. "Cinna, stay here and as an exercise, write down any ideas you have for dressing Mika. It'll help you to gain experience." Without saying anything else, she strode from the room.

Cinna looked at me. I stared back, holding his gaze. "You have nice eyes," he said, finally breaking the silence and eye contact, looking down to make a note.

"My nakedness doesn't distract you?" I asked, my voice seductive, but with a bitter edge.

Cinna paused, and his eyes flickered upwards, mostly obscured by lashes. "Should it?"

I raise an eyebrow in disbelief. That was not the response I expected from a Capitol citizen.

"You're … pretty, yes," Cinna said, looking down again. "But prettiness isn't everything." Oh. Hm. A stylist that wasn't shallow. Well that was not what I expected.

I stay quiet, unable to think of a response, as he circles me, occasionally writing something down, the scratch of the pen the only sound pervading the room.

"Are all the other stylists like you?" I eventually ask.

"Intern," Cinna corrected automatically. "And some are. We're not all incredibly superficial."

"But you're preparing to serve me up on a platter," I say coldly.

Cinna halts, surprised at my abrupt change of tone, than slowly continues. "Yes. I suppose we are."

I grimace. "At least you don't deny it."

Cinna came right up close to me then, his face inches from mine, examining my facial structure, tilting my head to examine my face from all angles, running a finger along my cheekbones, all the while stopping to take notes. "We're employed too, you know," he says, scribbling something down. "It's a job."

"Don't justify it," I say. "Don't justify having us kill each other for entertainment."

Cinna stops, a cold edge to his voice. "I don't justify killing anyone. I just never thought of my enjoyment for making and designing clothes and costumes as dressing people up like they're going to be eaten."

"What else would you be doing?" I ask harshly. Cinna can't answer and he continues in silence, noticeably less focused.

Viola eventually sweeps back in, her arms carrying a large pile of fabrics, bottles, pins and tapes.

Cinna steps back without a word and she begins to busily measure me, check didn't shades of fabric against my skin tone and play with my hair. All the while, Cinna watches me with guarded eyes.

A couple of hours later, we are called to dinner, so I pull on my robe and follow Cinna and Viola into the dining room where Lucille, Finnick, Aron, Zeke and another man with shiny silver hair and smooth creamy skin were waiting. Viola, Cinna and I took the spare seats and dinner was served.

The food was fantastic, admittedly. It was teeming with flavor and so good, I almost forgot where I was. When I remembered though, it hit me like a ton of bricks, and I stopped talking in mid-sentence immediately.

Cinna, Finnick and perhaps Aron were the only ones who noticed my sudden change but none of them said anything about it. I stared at the empty plate angrily, wishing someone had volunteered to take my place this year.

When dinner had finished, I quickly excused myself and exited to the room I was staying in, locked the door, sat in the middle of the cool floor and allowed myself to curl up and cry. Yes, cry. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be at home with my brother and parents. I wanted to be sitting on the long, deserted jetty and be swinging my legs off the edge, or enjoying the day off with my friends exploring the rock pools or diving off the only cliff safe enough to dive off fully clothed because I felt like a swim. Instead, I was here. In a white room, with white walls and white sheets in a superficial city with people who are so eagerly awaiting the Games to start so they can watch me fight, kill or die.

After about an hour of sitting on the floor feeling sorry for myself and my situation, there was a knock on the door. I didn't answer. Whoever it was could get the message and leave me alone. Unfortunately they didn't, and knocked again.

"Go away," I groan, flopping onto the floor.

"It's Cinna."

"So?"

"So … what?"

I sighed exasperatedly. "What do you want?"

"To take you for a walk."

That piqued my curiosity. I lifted myself from the floor and slunk over to the door and opened it. Cinna stood there, his face changing almost immediately to a look of concern.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

"How can you take me for a walk. I'm not allowed to leave," I say, before realizing he asked me if I was ok. "And that's a stupid question." Rude, I scolded myself. My mother would've yelled at me for my lack of manners. But at least I was being honest.

Cinna nodded. "I suppose it is." He reached out and smoothed my hair. "Since you obviously don't want to be with the others watching the reapings recap or the commentry, how about that walk?"

"Didn't you hear me?" I said. "We can't go anywhere. I'm trapped in this building. Where would we go?"

"It's a surprise," Cinna replied brightly.

I'm still suspicious but he seems genuine. And I could use a distraction. I had to wonder why though. I shrug and say "Ok. Why?"

"Why not?"

"Don't answer my question with another question!" I laugh, despite myself.

Cinna allows himself a grin. "Fine." His jaw tightens a little. "Because you could die in a few days so you might as well get a good look at the Capitol."

I'm surprised at his bluntness but I welcome it. Everything else here has been sugarcoated. "Let's go then," I tell him.

Cinna grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall, the door swinging shut behind me. He pulls me to a section of our floor I haven't been in yet. When we reach some stairs going up to what appears to be another level, I ask nervously, "Are we allowed up here?"

"Yes," Cinna answers. "It's still part of the fourth floor."

The apprehension that had built up lessened a little as Cinna pulled me up to thick double doors, which we passed through onto a large patio, complete with a fountain and garden. We sit on the bench beside the fountain, which was splashing noisily, where we can stare up at the starry sky. The artificial starry sky.

"It's pretty," I hear myself say. I didn't mean to speak. "But it isn't everything. And it's fake." I smile sheepishly, as I realized I had almost repeated Cinna's exact words to me a few hours ago.

Cinna grins at me, as he recognizes the use. "I suppose. But it is my home. I can't remember real stars. I left District Six when I was only a baby."

My head whips around and I stare at him. "Really?"

Cinna nods. "The Capitol's all I've ever known. Apart from what my mother has told me, I've never been outside the Capitol."

My head tries to wrap itself around this little piece of information. I didn't know District citizens could move to the Capitol. I suppose that was why he didn't sound exactly like a Capitol citizen. Being brought up by his mother, her accent what of rubbed off on him. "How?" I ask. "How did you and your mother get to live in the Capitol?"

Cinna half-shrugged. "My father, a natural-born Capitol citizen, was inspecting a laboratory she worked in, in District Six. That's how they met. They grew closer and he came back to visit her all the time when he went back to the Capitol. Eventually, he got permission for her to live with him. He knew a lot of people in high places and it was arranged that if my mother was willing to leave everything, her family, friends, job, all of it behind, she had permission to live with him, and as long as they were together, she could live in the Capitol as a full citizen."

"Wow." I was amazed. "She left everything she knew? She must have loved him."

"Yes. Though another part of her knew that if she went to the Capitol and became a citizen, life would be much easier and I wouldn't be at risk of being a tribute for the games. She discovered she was pregnant a few months before she left, you see. She told me that was something that played a part in her decision."

"So you were brought up in the Capitol?" I ask, just to be sure.

Cinna nods.

"Well. You've actually turned out quite well," I tell him.

"Thanks to my mother," Cinna agrees. "She instilled a few values into me that otherwise wouldn't have been."

"So, is she still in the Capitol? With your father?" I ask. This is important to me for some reason.

"Sort of," Cinna says, slowly, drawing out the 's'. "They died nearly two years ago actually. In a lab explosion."

That draws me up short. "Oh. I'm … sor-"

"It's fine," Cinna says. "I don't need or want sympathy."

"Ok," I say. We fall into silence and I listen to the bustling, celebratory sounds coming from the brightly-lit, multi-colored street down below and begin to shiver at the cool wind blowing in large gusts across the balcony. Cinna notices and wraps an arm around me, and rubs my other arm.

"What would you be doing if you were at home now?" Cinna asks.

"Probably watching the recap of the reapings in front of the fire eating whatever my mom cooked with my brother and father. My mother would be in the kitchen keeping herself busy."

"Why?" Cinna asks.

I hesitate before I answer, thinking how all citizens of Panem have to act as though the Hunger Games are cause for a celebration and the fact that I am sitting right in the heart of the Capitol, where this rule comes from. "She … likes to keep herself occupied," I say lamely. Cinna knows I'm lying, but doesn't call me out for it. I hurriedly continue. "Have you ever seen a fire made of driftwood from the beach?"

"No," Cinna replies.

"We use it all the time at home," I say. "People mostly use it for bonfires and stuff, but my Dad really loves it so he uses it for our home fires as well. If there's enough salt in the wood, it makes the color change to blue or green and sometimes purple and it smells different too. It's pretty. Not fake pretty, like these stars. But naturally pretty, like …" I try to think of something naturally beautiful that I'd seen in the Capitol that Cinna would be familiar with.

"Naturally pretty like you?" Cinna asks, looking at me, the corner of his mouth tweaked upwards.

I can't look away and something in my stomach shoots around. I quash it. Immediately. "You do remember that I'm going to die in a few days."

"Yes. And it's not 'I am'. It's 'I might'," he retorts. I bite my lip.

"Don't get your hopes up. Anything can happen," I say. The walls have come up again and I'm facing away from him.

"Are you planning on dying?" Cinna asks.

I scoff. "No. But no o-"

"Then stop saying you will," Cinna says determinedly.


End file.
